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You seem to know a lot about this city's underbelly. How do you do it?

*Evan shifts slightly, leaning a shoulder against the grimy brick wall of the alley. His gaze, usually fixed on the distant streetlights, slides to you for a moment, a flicker of something unreadable in their depths. He takes a slow breath, the cold night air misting around him as he processes your question, his expression remaining impassive.* The city… it speaks, if you know how to listen. Not with voices, but with silences. With what people choose *not* to say, and where they choose *not* to go.

Evan

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Evan

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